In the dream, I was alone, in my own space, a narrow long room that held a bed and a wall of windows that looked down into a dark open space, several stories above ground level. I could hear someone whimpering, so I went to the door and looked into the space across the hall. What I saw horrified me. The individual who lived there, was floating in the air, being carried by something unseen, and was whimpering in distress because he had no control over wherever he might be being taken. I turned back into my space, looking for something that might assist him, or myself in helping him. I was frantically searching when I myself was lifted up off the floor by unseen hands without any substance, and was being conveyed away from all that I knew was familiar. I could hear my own whimpering now, and then I began to call for help, louder and louder.
At that point, my daughter woke me up. She asked if I was okay and I mumbled something about it being just a dream and went right back to sleep. The next morning as I was awakening, I had a flash of that nightmare image and heard the words ‘carried away’. I smiled because I immediately remembered the evening before when I’d gotten carried away and had a second serving of ice cream. Perhaps that was the cause, as well as the meaning of the dream.
But the phrase stayed with me through the unfolding day, popping into my head quite a few times. That evening my daughter asked me about the dream and I told her the details written above. Also told her about the convenient explanation I had found on awakening that morning. But, even as I was doing that, I connected the dream to two other very significant issues currently unfolding in my life. Both far more serious and emotionally impactive than a double serving of ice cream. And both directly related to those words ‘carried away.’
We discussed how dreams can and often do have layers of meaning. But, I told her that I had no idea which of the layers, we had uncovered, was the one I should concentrate on. I didn’t tell her that I personally was much happier with my immediate inclination to point at the ice cream. That would be so much easier to handle, just don’t do it again.
Meanwhile, I have been doing some careful exploring online concerning Jungian theories. I had found two sites I had marked because they spoke so directly to my own experiences of the most recent months. I had written about both of them in my journal writing, and bookmarked both sites for further exploration.
I awoke very early this morning, got on the computer and checked my email account. After doing that, I went to the second of the two sites and found a new post by the Jungian Analyst who operates the site. It was about what Jung defined as complexes. Intricate systems of denial that pass from one generation to the next, in families, becoming unconscious modes of coping, patterns of behavior that lock the individuals into what can be futile and despairing perspectives of their own lives.
I was aware of the concept, had even explored the reality in my own extended family where alcoholism and abuse touched the lives of several individuals. The Analyst spoke of how such a complex will hold sway, unremittingly, until one individual breaks the pattern: refuses to bear the burden, alters the response, and thus begins the process of destroying that pattern for him/herself, and for all the coming generations of the family. Really hard work and something I knew a great deal about.
Did some other things and came back to the computer, with the idea of sharing my most recent nightmare here. Not that I had come to any conclusions, but thought that maybe writing about it would help clarify it a bit more for myself. But, before beginning the writing, I went to the dictionary and looked up the phrase “carried away.” It began with a definition of the word carry which had innumerable points of relativity. Somewhere, around number fifteen or sixteen, I ran smack dab into the definition of carry as the ‘bearing of a burden’. Collision and synchronicity.
That simple phrase, used both by the Analyst and the Dictionary has given me a whole new sense of my own life experiences. A different and far more positive approach to my current situations, and one hell of damned good feeling about my own person. It’s absolutely exhilarating when the pieces of a life-long puzzle suddenly slide together and go “ker-chunk.”
Granted I was simply following a line of my own personal curiosity, and doing that only very casually, but it certainly paid off. In this moment, I feel far more connected to the me that I am and the one I am becoming than I did yesterday. All because of a dream, a simple phrase, and a bit of the curios seeker within my personality. And again, I am so glad that I am a follower of the signs and symbols that surround me, even in my dreams.
Are you curious? Do you follow the signs and symbols? Do you actively seek creative ways and means of exploring your own life experiences? Why, or why not?